NOTHING SO STUPID
as a writer.
His life isn’t
, but he feels
like it is.
His rent’s due.
His father is
, yet he only
Some are small, some are momentous, all are real.
One day I will wake up and you will be gone, not because you wanted it but because I did.
One day you will stop getting angry at me and making me feel sad, not because you began to care more but because I did.
And when will our time be up?
It’s still too early to tell.
“It is proper to welcome struggle. Its arrival is always auspicious. Struggle changes a sub-human into an ideal person. It transforms an ordinary human into a spiritually awake person respected by the world. Struggle is a subtle sculptor who shapes the life of every great spiritual master into a unique and unparalleled work of art.” - Swami Kripalu
The days are shorter now and I am standing with my toes curled around a precipice that is called Winter and that will always suck me down, drowning, suffocating. There is hope in the promise of falling snow and crisp mornings, but only enough to take the edge off.
What really matters is hope, if you can find it. (Where? How? When?)
I am haunted by a memory: the choking sound of your last breaths, your empty stare as you looked at but through me, my panicked heartbeat and stifled scream as I grabbed your shoulders and shook you, shook you, willing you back to life, and breath.
Still you drifted; slipping away from me three times, finally gasping your last, your face blurred by my tears. Fear. Silence. A grief so deep, a chasm so wide, that I could spend my entire life filling it and it would never be enough.
There is life inside me, now, but I do not feel it and I would have ended it if you were still with me. But somewhere, a small voice whispered, and I listened. I wanted this life to be an extension of you, to have your eyes, and your heart, and your love. And so I could not do it. I thought of you, of your beautiful smile, and I could not choose anything but love, and life, and hope. For you. To remember you. To bring you to life, one more time.
When you return from vacation, you find that nothing has changed except you. Briefly, perhaps quietly, but you have changed. And if you don’t act quickly, do something different right now, soon, imminently, you will just re-settle into the comfort of the same day-to-day, forgetting that deep inside you something has been dying to be heard. Jumping on the bandwagon, you get caught up in work, chores, forgetting, life. Because who has time for self-reflection, anyway, and risks are just too damn scary to take when the status quo is tolerable.